


Without the mask

by Lerena



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, I don't know where this fanfic is going, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn, Vigilante John Doe, post-episode: s02e05 what ails you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-14 01:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14124762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lerena/pseuds/Lerena
Summary: Bruce Wayne is not Batman anymore. While looking for the man he wants to be, Bruce will also try to fix his mistakes. And the most important of them is none other than the man known as Joker...





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really inspired by the end of the fifth episode of the second season of Batman!Telltale. As you probably guessed it, I got the Vigilante John path and while I was really pleased by it, I think there's still a story left to tell and that Bruce and John's relationship is yet to be explored. So, this is my take on it. I hope you'll like it.
> 
> Sorry if I have left a few spelling mistakes here and there, I'm french and while I have a grasp on english language, it's not perfect at all.

Bruce Wayne’s nights were quieter since he decided not to wear the mantle anymore. To stop being the Batman. It was one of the most difficult decisions he had to take, but he knew why he was doing it and, therefore, didn’t allow himself to regret any of this. It was Batman or Alfred. And Bruce chose his mentor, his father figure over the bat.

His nightly rounds in Gotham were over. Bruce thought he might be able to catch some sleep, but it seemed like his mind wasn't willing to give him some rest. All he could think about was those last weeks and everything that happened. All he could think about was John Doe. And how he failed him.No matter how hard he tried to push back this image, he couldn’t stop thinking about the man and how he had to force himself to fight him. Bruce couldn’t stop hearing his last words, before he fell unconscious, before they were separated. That moment when he knew that the man he felt this deep friendship for was still there. Somewhere behind the suffering and the mad laugh. John Doe was still there.

Bruce left his bed, sweaty and tired, but unable to find sleep. He felt haunted. And he couldn’t just hide his feelings behind the mask anymore. He always felt like Batman was his real face, the one he couldn’t allow himself to be in any other circumstances, while Bruce Wayne, the rich philanthropist playboy Bruce Wayne, was the costume all along.

And now that Batman wasn’t anymore, Bruce felt…empty. Devoid of a purpose, of a sense of being. Forced to confront his thoughts, his doubts and the darkest parts of himself. The darkness that probably attracted John Doe. The darkness that molded him slowly, through their interactions, through their relationship, into the Joker.

The laughter echoed in his mind. Bruce couldn’t bear hearing it anymore. He left his bedroom in a hurry.

“Can’t sleep, Master Bruce ?”

Startled, Bruce turned back, adopting a fighting stance immediately, but he quickly realized who he was facing.

“Alfred…

\- Where were you going, at this hour of the night ?”

Bruce had a faint smile. He learned to separate those moments where Alfred was his butler and those where he tried to be his father, without truly admitting it. It was one of those moments. A father worried that his son might run away at night to do what was explicitly off the table.

“To be fair, Alfred, I don’t have any idea. I just… I couldn’t just stay in my room and wait for the night to fade.

-You could still try to sleep, Master Bruce. It’s usually what people do when they’re laying in their bed at night.”

Bruce chuckled a bit. He missed Alfred. So much. He was only the shadow of the man he used to be during these last months and Bruce had been so afraid to lose him definitely. But Alfred was still here. As long as his butler was there at his side, Bruce was confident that he could control this darkness within him. That he could find the man he wanted to be, without the mask.

Together, they walked in the Wayne manor, heading for the kitchen. Bruce could felt Alfred’s eyes on him, filled with concern. Bruce offered him a smile, before saying one of his favorites, yet emptiest, sentences :

“I’m fine, Alfred.

-Obviously, you are. Every fine man of this town is always ready at 2 a.m for a little jog on their property. It’s the textbook definition of the word “fine”.”

Alfred let out a sigh :

“You don’t have to be “fine”, Master Bruce. “Fine” is a lie, and you seemed pretty decided to be true to yourself when you stopped me from leaving the manor. Admitting that you’re not fine is…

-... is the first step to recovery, Alfred, I’m well aware of that. But…”

They arrived in the kitchen. Alfred poured a glass of whiskey for Bruce and himself. The rich man looked at his drink, dipped his lips into it, but couldn’t drink more than a tiny gulp. It’s not that it was strong. On the contrary, it felt like it was too soft to help him in any way. 

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you, Master Bruce? You’re thinking about the Joker…

-John Doe.”

Bruce felt the need to correct his butler on the matter. He didn’t want to think about John as the Joker. He didn’t want the Joker to be what was only left of John. He couldn’t bear this terrible thought.

“I let him down. In so many ways. You warned me, but I didn’t listen. I… I thought we could work it out together. That Batman could have a partner, for once. Someone with whom I could share the streets of Gotham.

-And, by doing so, you pushed John Doe further into the darkness that inhabits his mind. A darkness that you were sharing with him, in some way.”

The guilt was there, stronger than ever. And Bruce couldn’t just let it out by beating a few thugs here and there and feeling like he was doing something good for Gotham and its citizens. Just like any other man, he had to work on his issues. Acknowledge them. Confront them.

“I’m going to see him today. I want to be sure that he’s treated well at Arkham. I funded the place, it should be better than what it used to be when I was a patient there, right ?”

He didn’t believe it himself. He tried to do so, tried to imagine John Doe thriving in art therapy, finding comfort in expressing his thoughts by other means than violence, but all he could really envision was the cold feeling he had when he was there. Nothing better to do than to watch television all day and waiting for something to happen. For a fight to happen, for the violence to be expressed in a spectacular way…

“Are you sure it’s okay, Master Bruce? To go there so soon?

-It’s been a week, Alfred. “Soon” is not the word I’ll use to qualify this period.”

He had run away from this, as he had run away from everything that wasn’t violent since he was a kid. He had run away from Harvey, from Oswald, from all the people he had lost in his meaningless fight. A fight for justice, he liked to say. But now, he was starting to think that it was merely a fight against reality…

“I owe him this visit. It’s my fault he’s back there. I owe him this, Alfred.

-I won’t stop you, Master Bruce. I’m just worried that you might not be ready for what you’re going to see. Not yet.”

Bruce doubted he would ever be ready for this. But he couldn’t just run away indefinitely. He had to face his mistakes and their consequences. He had to face John Doe.

 

*

 

John Doe was sitting on his bed, a sad expression on his face. He looked at the picture on his desk, before letting out a sigh. Already, he couldn’t tell how many days went by since this awful night happened. Isolated like he was, it was hard to keep a sense of time.

As he was readying himself to relive these moments once again, a visitor was announced for him. Surprised, John Doe went to the door, waiting for the hatch to be released. What he didn’t dare to hope for finally happened.

“Bruce !”

There he was, in a clean suit, smiling shyly at him, a smile that wasn’t in any way similar to the playboy smile he used to have in the multiple pictures John Doe had collected of him for years and years. There he was. John Doe let out a laugh, a happy laugh. There he was...

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a neurodivergent author, I've always tried to portray mental health in an accurate way and I'll try to do the same with John Doe. John is a special character to me, because he's the first incarnation of the Joker I found myself identifying with and I can relate to a lot of his feelings and behavior pre-Joker phase. I also have a great deal of respect for Telltale because they actually acknowledged the ableism in Batman's universe, a thing that always bothered me and wished for it to be addressed. I'll try to write about it too, because it's a subject that is very important to me and that is not talked about very much.
> 
> Anyway, see you next chapter !


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired, so I gave it a shot and here we are ! So, it's from John's POV this time. Hope you'll like it !

Back to Arkham. There used to be a time when John Doe kinda wished he could be there again. Not anymore. The walls were crushing him, crushing his body, his soul, his very own being. While the establishment had been taken care of, for John, it felt even worse than before.

He was alone. All alone. No roommate to pester. No one to be his audience. All he had were his appointments with Dr Leland and the Big Eye. The Eye that was looking at him at all time. It was probably the worst of it all. The surveillance camera that was pointed at him. It was there before, sure, but he was able to use it to put on a show. He always found the energy to do so.

Not so much anymore. The Eye reminded him of what he was missing. Of the outside world and those who inhabited it. Those who had every right to walk freely when he was stuck there. Because he was  _ different.  _ Because he was born like this and it didn’t suit society’s biiiig standards…

He still tried to be the Clown, to be the Joker. To be funny and have fun at all time, at all cost. But his jokes were repeating themselves. They became… boring. So, so boring ! And he was bored too. Bored and angry and sad and frustrated and broken. Everything at the same time. And nothing as well.

He used to be the model patient in Arkham. Now, they were all so… wary around him. They ignored his jokes. They punished him for expressing what he thought was rightful anger. Anger towards a world so unfair. Anger towards a Justice that didn’t mean anything. Anger, in its purest and wildest form.

He didn’t like Dr Leland anymore. He could see her lies, carefully conceived, just like those Bruce Wayne had created to use him. To take advantage of him. They were the same. Pitying him and hating him at the same time, while pretending that they actually cared about him. That they cared about this ol’ John Doe…  _ Lies  _ ! Despicable lies !

Every day, John would find himself thinking about  _ him. _ About Batman. Or Bruce Wayne. Whatever mask he thought fitted him the best. Both of them were fake anyway. Fake and unfunny and hypocritical. Everything that he hated. The voices in John’s mind, synchronized with his thoughts, were repeating again and again how much he hated Bruce Wayne. 

And yet, his picture was still on his desk. Both of them, together. A poorly tampered picture to make it look like they were close. Friends. And something even deeper. It was fake, fake like the rest, fake, fake, fake. A lie that John Doe couldn’t stand, but was unable to let go of. Because Brucey’s words were still there, haunting his brain.  _ Of course, you were my friend. _

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He usually did both, at the same time, a chilling sound that generally startled the guard standing in front of his door. Everything was so intense, so lively, as if his very own mind was trying to make his body implode. And sometimes, it did.

John Doe wasn’t known as a cutter before. At his worst, he used to punch the walls a bit, but it didn’t go further. It wasn’t funny to hurt himself. Others’ pain was funnier to witness or, even better, to provoke. Back then, though, he didn’t felt like he felt today. It didn’t  _ hurt  _ that much in his brain. 

Scratching the skin was relieving the stress. Evacuating the anxiety. Like a faucet finally allowed to flow, after holding all of it inside for so long. He even tried to steal a knife, to put an eternal smile on his face, but he was stopped before he had the time to scar himself permanently. A very, very frustrating interruption to what he thought would have been his best joke. An eternal smile plastered on his face while he was crying so much on the inside… Quite the funny idea, right ?

But they never let him be funny. And when he was allowed to do so, it was boring and meaningless. Much like his entire life now. Boring, boring. Useless. He was repeating those words quite often, ruminating while curled up on his bed or against a wall. Boring. Useless. Not funny. Unfair. Unfair was used the most. Not surprising. Justice was all Brucey ever talked about that when they were working together. A justice he would twist to further his own messed-up agenda.

He didn’t talked about all of this to Dr Leland. He just laughed at her. What was the point anyway ? During their first meeting, he asked him when he could expect to be released from Arkham and her answer was full of lies. One day. It was so vague that she could have just said “never” and it would have been the same. 

He hated her. He hated Arkham. He hated Bruce. And… he hated himself too. No wonder Harley used to treat him like she did. Maybe he didn’t deserved more than that. Pain. Pain. Pain. Never fun. Never.

Watching the outside world was the only thing that would make him genuinely smile. When the bat-signal was up, John was eagerly waiting, hoping that his dear Brucey, his Batsy would come to his window and revive the flame of their hatred. But he never did. And John hated him for that. Even more, day after day. 

Time was flowing at its own funny rhythm. In spite of the window in his cell, John had troubles to distinguish night and day, to know when a day was starting and when it was ending. The meds weren’t helping either, keeping him confused, fuzzy, tired. They had increased his dose of drugs after John had tried to give himself a Glasgow grin. He wished they didn’t. It made him feel like he didn’t belong, even more than before. The world was living and he was there. Just… there.

And the Eye was reminding of that. Of what its life was now. Of what it could have been. John looked at it and let out a sigh. This audience was not funny. He’d rather try to make Bruce smile. Even though it was as impossible as separating Commissioner Gordon from his precious mustache. Or whatever rank he was now. John couldn’t care less.

It could have been a few days like a whole month when, finally, something happened. When the carefully crafted mechanism of his daily life finally broke, leaving room for something new. Something fun.

Just as he was watching Bruce’s picture once again, feeling nothing but a deep sadness, a visitor was announced. And when he saw him, in his beautiful suit, smiling shyly like he never smiled to anyone else, John Doe forgot every bad thought that he harboured against him until then. 

He smiled, almost screamed Bruce’s name and let out a laugh. Oh, he was so happy ! So, so happy ! But like everything in this world, John’s laugh would have to die… It was bound to happen, quite soon...

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

At first, there was just silence. Painful, contemplative silence. John had been cuffed to his bed, which he had protested against, to no avail. It would not have been good press for Arkham to have Bruce Wayne, the Bruce Wayne, hurt by none other than their most famous and dangerous patient…

Bruce hadn’t said a word about it, but he didn’t like it either. He knew what the handcuffs meant and how it shaped their meeting. Bruce was free and John was not. Bruce was considered “sane” by society’s standards and John was not. Bruce had everything that John could only dreamed of getting. 

And yet, he was smiling. John couldn’t clap his hands like he used to to signify his happy mood, but he flapped them with enthusiasm. A sight that made Bruce smile slightly. For a brief instant, it felt like they were back to the past, to these moments they shared together as partners. As Batman and the Joker. But Batman didn’t exist anymore and, Bruce hoped, he would have taken the Joker with him in the shadows.

Bruce didn’t want to talk about all of it. Not only because of the cameras, but also because it might as well be a trigger for John and he didn’t want to upset him. Not if he could avoid to do so. But John had decided otherwise and was the first to claim, his lips stretched in a big, wide smile :

“So, Bruce, Brucey, I haven’t seen our mutual friend in a while. What’s up with him ? Laundry problems ? The costume must be a heck to clean, did it shrunk in the washing machine or something like that ?”

John pointed his head at the window, where he could see the Bat-signal almost every day :

“Either he’s not there at all or he doesn’t want to greet his old pal. Don’t know what would be the worst, honestly.”

Bruce scrubbed his face with his right hand, a sigh coming out of his throat. He really didn’t want to talk about all of this. But he knew that John would be angry if he just changed the subject, like he sometimes did when they were going near something he couldn’t talked about. 

“He’s not in town anymore. He… He chose a different path.”

John stopped smiling. He raised one of his eyebrows, confused, before coming to an epiphany and laughing :

“That’s a joke, right ? Oh, Brucey, I didn’t know you could be  _ funny  _ ! We should make a duo, I’ll be your Auguste and you’ll be my white clown ! But, wait, I’m the one with the whitest face, so…

-This is not a joke, John. He’s… He’s not coming back. Never.”

John immediately stopped his rambling. He stared into Bruce’s eyes, with an intensity that Bruce was not ready to handle at this moment. Immobile, more serious than he ever was, John whispered :

“Then… If he’s not there anymore…”

A twisted smile distorted John’s face. 

“Who are you, Bruce ? Is there still someone… in there ?”

And then he laughed. A laughter that felt like a knife plunged right into Bruce’s heart, nourishing his doubts. Who are you, Bruce ? And Bruce had no answer to give. Not at this moment. 

The only thing he could do was to smile, like he always did while maintaining his public persona, and try to calm John’s laughter. If the convict were to get too excited, their meeting would be shortened. And Bruce still had not managed to tell him what he wanted to tell him.

“John, please… Can you stop and listen to me ? It’s important.”

John let his laughter died slowly, before trying to motion a military salute. The handcuff clattered noisily and he grimaced with pain. Letting out an annoyed moan, John replied :

“Yeah, yeah, at your orders, my captain ! Brucey, what is soooo important for you to share that you feel like you have to stop me from enjoying the fun of this situation ? Tell me everything ! I’m listeniiing.”

Still this smile. So far away from the smile John used to have. Devoid of the genuity, devoid of the happy curiosity, devoid of everything that drawn Bruce into befriending John beyond what his mission implied.

Bruce felt the guilt crushing his soul even more. He clasped his hands together, breathing slowly, before finding the will to utter the words that were obsessing him for all this time :

“I’m sorry, John. I’m sorry to have lead you on this path, to have lead you back to Arkham. If I didn’t… If I just kept my distances…

-Kept your distances?”

It was a cold hissing, filled with an even colder anger. John clenched his fists, so strongly that his nails started to pierce his skin. Witnessing it, Bruce advanced a friendly hand, uttering John’s name in a calming voice. But John retorted violently, almost screaming :

“Stop ! Stop trying to cuddle me, stop pretending to be so damn nice ! Just turn off the camera and beat me like you did before. It was the only time I felt like I was meeting the real  _ you _ , Brucey ! The only time you didn’t kept your so precious distances !”

John pulled on his handcuffs, scratching his pale skin. Bruce himself was paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak. He could only witness the fury, the rage that was shaking the man he had once called his friend. Without the mask, Bruce couldn’t find the strength to utter a single word. He was… vulnerable. Just like the little kid he used to be, watching his parents being murdered, unable to react, unable to do a single thing about it.

He was losing John. He was losing him definitely to the darkness of his mind. Just like he had lost almost everyone else in his life. Bruce couldn’t allow this to happen. Not again. Never again. While the cell door was opened by a guard, ready to pull Bruce out and to “calm” John, Bruce raised his voice, covering John’s furious laugh and the agitation that was about to happen :

“Let’s start again !”

With one motion of hand, using his persona’s charisma, he kept the guard and the doctor from coming closer, and took a step in John’s direction. In spite of the doctor’s advice, he held out his hand to John, close enough to allow him to shake it while handcuffed, and, still loudly to make sure he was hearing him, Bruce said :

“I’m Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you.”

John stopped laughing. He looked at Bruce’s face, then his hands, then his face. Then he took his hand and planted his nails in Bruce’s skin. He felt a sharp pain, but didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he repeated his last words, putting on his lips a smile. A true, clumsy smile.

“I’m Bruce Wayne. Nice to meet you.”

John smiled too, revealing his teeth. A smile between charming and voracious, a smile that John was the only one able to produce. 

“I’m nobody. Nice to meet you.”

And he let go of Bruce’s hand. Bruce didn’t need to look at it to know that it was bloody. Alfred will not be happy… 

The rich man couldn’t stop the staff to intervene any longer. John had started to bite his own tongue, in what was probably a way of provoking him. Of showing him how much he had hurt him. And how much he would keep hurting him. 

But Bruce couldn’t let go. Bruce couldn’t accept that this would be the last time he’ll see John. Not like this. Not in this way. The meds were already kicking in, calming John despite him. 

“I’ll be back, John. I promise.”

As he was about to leave, he heard John whispering, barely able to articulate the words :

“No… body… Am… No… body…”

Nobody. John wasn’t nobody. He was… He was unique. He could be everything. He wasn’t nobody. And Bruce would make John aware of his own value. It was a promise. No, even better. A pinky swear.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's a bit confused in the end, I wrote this while I was hazy. Helped me to keep my mind anchored in reality. Hope you enjoyed it !


	4. Chapter 4

John used to appreciate his sessions with Dr Leland. The woman seems to be his only ally in Arkham and, at the time, he thought she genuinely appreciated him. She listened to him, even laughed at some of his jokes and taught him to play checkers. It was easier to talk to her than any other doctor. It used to be, anyway.   


Now, John could  _ see.  _ He could see the truth behind the lies. He could see how much she was pitying him. How much she was hating him. Just like Bruce. The same lies. The same deception. But John was not John anymore. He wasn’t Joker either, but as Nobody, he could still perceive what was hidden behind the mask. Behind the hypocrisy. 

Since his return at Arkham, Joan Leland had been demoted. No longer the head of psychiatry, she was just a psychiatrist. She was just like the rest of them. Yet, he was still his patient. Probably because no else dared to approach him. Dr Leland was a fool and, as such, she still seemed to think that she could reach to him. Wasted effort, truly.

It was another one of their sessions. John hadn’t been much talkative with her. He didn’t even want to joke. She was one of the few people he valued and, just like Harley, just like Bruce, she didn’t live up to his expectations. She just used him. Despicable. Unfair. Unfair. Unfair.

They were playing checkers. She had stopped trying to get him to talk and was playing with him silently, watching him from time to time. If this was what she was payed for, truly, Arkham was wasting its funds… 

John used to be quite good at this game, but he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. He could see his dark pieces being discarded one by one and was unable to take even one of Dr Leland’s white pieces. It was getting annoying. When she took his last piece, he grabbed the board and threw it away, letting out a frustrated scream.

Dr Leland didn’t move, didn’t even seemed startled. While John was massaging his wrists, hurt by his handcuffs, the psychiatrist got up from her chair and went to pick up the mess. She went back, put the board between them and, with a firm voice, she enunciated :

“Let’s start again.”

Let’s start again. John’s mind instantly took him back to his last encounter with Bruce Wayne. To his old buddy, who wasn’t his buddy anymore. Back then, they shook hands and Brucey introduced himself again. He was Bruce Wayne. And John wasn’t John anymore. He was nobody, that’s what he told him.

“John…

-I’m not John !”

Once again, he grabbed the board game and threw it away. It didn’t provide him the relief he was hoping. Instead, he was even more frustrated to see that Dr Leland wasn’t phased by his behavior. He wanted her angry, he wanted her frustrated, he wanted her to feel as powerless as he was. But she didn’t seem to be. Nothing he did could keep her away from him. She was still there. Watching him. Playing with him. Lying, again and again. Not funny. Not funny at all.

Putting the board back in place again, Dr Leland rearranged the white and black pieces. His rhythm of breathing getting more regular, the woman talked again :

“Fine. You don’t want to be called John.

-I am not John.

-I get it. And you’re not Joker either. I heard your conversation with Mr Wayne the other day. I’m sorry it went this way.”

John laughed : 

“What are you sorry about ? It was  _ great  _ ! I got to hurt him once more and I missed it so much ! A few minutes more and I would have bitten his cute, damaged ear !”

Dr Leland moved one of her white pieces :

“You didn’t seem to enjoy it that much, though. You were even, dare I say, quite hurt yourself. To the point of erasing every shred of your identity.”

John let out an angry hissing, but still moved one of his pieces. He didn’t really know why he was playing or talking with her, when he was so decided to ignore her before. Maybe he needed an audience that wasn’t the silent camera in his room. Maybe he needed to talk to someone. Even to someone he could not trust.

“I did not erase anything. Ba… Bruce, my buddy Bruce did. And now, I’m left with nothing. I’m Nobody.

-You’re not nobody. Let’s agree that you’re not John or Joker anymore. You now have the opportunity to be a new person. To build yourself a new identity. Not everyone is being given this chance in their life. You can be whoever you want. 

-And if I want to be nobody ?”

He was smiling, one of his too wide and unsettling smiles. Joan Leland just returned a patient smile to him, which annoyed John to no end.

“You can’t be nobody. I took care of you for a long time and if there’s someone you can’t be, it’s nobody. It’s not you. It will never be you.”

In a way, he wanted to believe her. But trusting her was putting him at risk of being betrayed again and he couldn’t take that. He couldn’t stand another treachery. It would break him.    
  
While he was thinking, moving one of his pieces without prior reflexion, Dr Leland took a piece he left unprotected, and suggested :

“We could start by calling you J. J could be your new beginning. Then, you’ll be free to go back to John or even to Joker. Or you could just be someone else entirely.

-J…”

He mouthed the letter, once, twice, before smiling again. He liked J. J was simple and mysterious. J could hide many, many things. It felt more meaningful to him than his old persona. John didn’t fit him anymore and neither did Joker. But J… J was a-okay. J was a beginning. J was a start.

He waved his hand at Dr Leland, who seemed a bit confused, but quickly got back to a more serious expression :

“Hi, Dr Leland ! I’m J ! Nice to meet you.”

J couldn’t wait to introduce himself properly to Bruce. To give him his true, new identity. A happy laugh came out of his throat, but the laugh quickly turned into something twisted, while the voices in his head reminded him of the painful truth. 

Bruce was out there. Bruce was not Bruce anymore. Bruce didn’t know who he was. Bruce didn’t knew him. He didn’t  _ need  _ him. 

J banged his fists on the table, loudly, violently, while his laugh was starting to look more and more like a painful cry. He didn’t need him, he didn’t need him, he didn’t need, he didn’t need him. He used him and now, he didn’t need him. He didn’t need him.

His twisted laugh was getting louder and louder. He could feel the pain in his hands while he was banging the table, but couldn’t stop himself from hitting it. If the handcuffs didn’t prevent him to do so, he would have probably beat himself. Beat himself to death. To the sweet, sweet release of death.

His world was getting blurred. J stopped seeing Dr. Leland, he stopped hearing her. All he could see and hear was Bruce. Bruce in Batman’s costume. Or was it the opposite ? J interrupted his laughter, talking to who he thought was Bruce :

“Buddy, Brucey, I  _ knew  _ you couldn’t give up the costume ! I knew it !”

He bit the hand that was trying to restrain him, only stopping when he took a punch. Dizzy, he started to laugh again :

“Go on, Bruce ! Hit me ! Hit me as hard as you can ! Break my bones, break my teeth, let’s see what your so precious  _ Justice  _ has to say about it ! Come on, Buddy ! Come on !”

J laughed. And laughed. And laughed. Until exhaustion seized him. For a brief moment, before everything went dark, he was able to see the reality for what it was. There was no Bruce. No Batman either. Just a guard that Dr Leland seemed to get angry at. It was all a lie. As usual. Nothing but a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's a new chapter ! 
> 
> We didn't get to see much of Leland in the game, but I always thought she was an interesting character. I hope that my take on her will please you.
> 
> Next chapter from Bruce's POV ! 
> 
> Thanks for reading !


End file.
